


give me love like never before

by delinquents



Series: Edoardo and Eleonora [2]
Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Ed Sheeran - Freeform, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Inspired by Music, Skam Italy - Freeform, Song Lyrics, Song: Give Me Love (Ed Sheeran), bed sharing, incantava - Freeform, skam italia - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:06:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26183908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delinquents/pseuds/delinquents
Summary: He's pretty sure she's trying to kill him, and she doesn't even know it.fic no.1 of the song series brought to you byGive Me Love by Ed Sheeran
Relationships: Edoardo Incanti/Eleonora Sava
Series: Edoardo and Eleonora [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1899628
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	give me love like never before

She's trying to kill him. 

She _has_ to be trying to kill him.

* * *

_No, I just wanna hold ya_

_Give a little time to me or burn this out_

She normally wakes up before him, well before anyone in their right mind would want to wake up, because she has a schedule and she likes sticking to routines. He gets it, kind of, but he's the type to want to spend lazy mornings in bed rather than whatever it is that Eleonora gets up to. He knows she checks on her plants before anything else, and that she probably takes better care of them than she does of herself sometimes, and that she sets out the coffee mugs for Edo and Filo when they eventually roll out of bed, coffee pot still hot, but other than that his girlfriend's mornings are a mystery to him.

And then, one morning, he's awake before she is.

It's still dark outside but the light from the apartment across from her window makes patterns across the wooden flooring. Eleonora's still curled against him, nose tucked into the crevice of his collar bone, fingers wound in his tee-shirt, and it's the first time that he's known that they don't drift apart during the night. She talks a little in her sleep, which he already knew, but she's silent now as he runs his nails gently against her scalp and traces invisible patterns on her thigh. 

He loves the lipstick and the plaid shorts, the tights and the button-down shirts, the giant scarves she wears when it's cold and the messy bun she throws up when she's concentrating. He loves the well-put-together version of his girlfriend, who refuses to leave the house if she doesn't look presentable and yet makes it all look effortless, but he loves this version just a little bit more. The version who wipes off her lipstick the second his car pulls out of school in anticipation of a nap or a make-out session or both, who steals his shirts with holes in the collar to wear to bed, who's hair gets mused from his hands or pillows or whatever else he's pressed her against. She's calm and confident and loud and shy all in one, and every glimpse he gets of this Eleonora makes it difficult to control how his fingers reach for her without his body's consent. 

She shuffles even closer when the blankets slip from around her hips and Edoardo ends up with a mouthful of her hair for a brief moment before her lips press a feather-light kiss to the exposed skin of his chest and her fingers flex against his wrist.

"G'morning," She mutters into his chest, hands sliding up his sides to curl through his hair and he closes his eyes again, savoring the feeling of her hands on him. It'll never get old, for him, that the girl lying next to him in bed right now is the same girl who called him out in front of all his friends, made him a laughing stock in his friendship group for weeks, is the same girl who stains his mouth and cheeks and chin red with lipstick, who steals his sweatpants to laze around in and presses her freezing cold toes against his shins when she can't sleep.

"Morning."

"You're up early," Her hair falls down on either side of her face, hiding them away from the empty room as she knocks their foreheads together gently. He hums in response, can't formulate a full sentence with her this close so just pulls her down to kiss him instead. 

This will never get old, either. Getting to kiss her whenever he wants - out in public now that Silvia's in the know, in her room, in his bed, as they walk down the street, pressing her against his car after school; even when she drags him into an empty classroom and corners him against the wall. Her kissing him whenever she wants to now, not caring who sees or where they are (so long as he keeps his hands from wandering). Secretly making out with Eleonora Sava was exciting and exactly what he thought he wanted, but lazy kisses between sleep-ridden sentences, throwing an arm around her as they walk, introducing her to his Nonna as his girlfriend, watching her beat the boys at Fifa and Mario Kart - _dating_ Eleonora Sava - is so much better. 

Whatever her morning plans are, they clearly aren't time-sensitive as she responds to his kiss with one of her own, chest slotting oh-so-perfectly against his, legs tangled, hands pulling at his curls. Her muffled giggle against his throat makes his chest tighten, but the smile she lets out against his mouth seconds later loosens it. 

When she finally untangles his arms from around her waist to get out of bed, the sun's beginning to peek through the curtains and she's ready to start her day. There's a box of pills on her nightstand that she reaches for first, and Edoardo takes advantage of the minimal distance between them to swing his legs off the bed and wrap his arms around her thighs, forehead against the curve of her spine.

"What are they?"

"These are vitamins," She gestures to the box in her hand, "And that," waving to the box tucked neatly between a glass of pens and her lamp, "Is the pill. I don't need to take that until eleven."

He's not getting back to sleep now he's caught a glimpse of how she starts her morning. He's determined to see the whole routine.

* * *

_All I want is the taste that your lips allow_

_Oh, give me love_

She lets him water some of the plants, but he's pretty sure she only does this so she can sneak in a quick shower without Edoardo being able to try and hop in with her, but by the time he's showered himself she has a plate of toast and a mug of coffee waiting for him. There's a pot of tea on the stove that she'll drink throughout the day, but it's the green stuff he finds disgusting and he's pretty sure she only likes it because he won't try and steal it from her.

It tastes slightly better from her mouth though, when he crowds her into the countertop and slides his hand to the back of her neck. She tastes like green tea and the apricot from her lip balm, and he briefly misses the slight metallic taste and sticky feel of her lipstick until she hops onto the counter and pulls him even closer. 

"What do you normally do in the morning?" He asks, rolling his lips down the side of her neck as he nails scrape systematically against his scalp.

"It depends," She huffs a little breathlessly as his teeth flirt with her pulse point, "Sometimes I just study until you wake up. It's the only time I actually get work done when you can't interrupt me."

"You never complain," He nips at her jaw.

"I _always_ complain-"

He shushes her with his mouth on hers once more, swallowing the grumbles she tries to get out just to prove her point. She has no work to do right now, not with exams over and the radio pre-recorded for the next three episodes, so she really has no leg to stand on when he walks them clumsily back to her room, toast and tea completely forgotten.

* * *

_A man may drink and not be drunk_

_A man may fight and not be slain_

_A man may court a pretty girl_

_And perhaps be welcomed back again_

She's with her girls on the other side of the room; cheeks glistening under the heavy strobe lights Ricco had set up for the night, lips tinted a dark purple, fingernails painted nude, legs long under her shorts. Her back's pressed against the door frame, half of her friends crowding the only exit in the house, the other half taking up residence on the outside porch, with Ele right there in the middle, hair swaying around her as she turns her head with each new voice, his leather jacket hanging off her shoulders, kept up at the elbows.

Federico's saying something to him, or someone next to him, he really doesn't know because she'd stolen his jacket with a firm, drunken kiss to his mouth right in front of everyone and she's not stopped smiling at whatever Sana's saying, and she looks _breathtaking_.

He can't remember a moment since they met where he wasn't aware of her presence, and it's no different a year and four months down the line. He knows when she's moved from the door to refill her drink without looking at her, knows when she moves back to her friends because of the way her hand trails down his arm as they pass each other. He knows when she joins Elia at the makeshift DJ booth, and when she steps outside for air and keeps Chicco company as he smokes.

Edoardo turns around for just a moment and when he turns back she's right there under Federico's arm, laughing at whatever Nicco and Martino are talking about now. She smiles at him cheekily as she leans her head back against Federico's chest and he's only half-listening when his best friend makes a joke about stealing her from him. 

Silvia's still at the door with the rest of the girls, and he knows Ele's talked with her but doesn't want to flaunt it. Knows in the moment that the boys disappear for more drinks that Ele pushes him into a dark corner to hide who they are in case she looks over and gets upset. 

She tastes like the cheap liquor the girls pre-gamed with and the expensive whiskey Nicco stole from his dad, and a hint of that apricot lip balm. His jacket feels rough against his hands when he tries to tug it off, momentarily forgetting where they are, but her laugh's so soft and happy against his chin that it makes him do it again just to hear it. She's more daring with some alcohol in her system, hips right up against his in a way that he can only describe as teasing, fingers tugging harder at his hair then she would ever allow herself to do sober but he loves anyway, mouth more demanding of his own. It's more intoxicating than any of Ricco's lethal cocktails - Edoardo's pretty sure he could give up all parties and alcohol from here on out, and it wouldn't matter one bit so long as Eleonora's there with him kissing him just like this. 

She disappears again when Eva pulls her away from their private corner, but he zones right in on the back of her head until she's pulled into the next room and out of his sight. 

The next time he sees her, there's a fight in between them, and Fede's telling him to step in, to stop it. He remembers the last time this had happened. The yelling, getting knocked to the floor, the chair, and catching a glimpse of Eleonora's retreating back. The aftermath where they'd yelled and stormed away from each other and how he'd regretted being the first one to walk away. 

She looks at him now, eyes wide and cheeks no longer flushed from the alcohol, scared and watching him. He doesn't know what happened, he hadn't paid attention, but Ricco's in this fight and he's drunk way too much to be a winning contender. 

He doesn't aim to cause any damage, but if his fist lands a little harsher on one guy's fist than the others because he mentioned Ele then it's really not his fault. Fede takes Ricco back home, Nicco works on either keeping the party going or kicking everyone out - he's really not too sure - and Eleanora orders them a taxi back to her apartment. Eva comes with them, only because she's crashing in Filo's room that night, and he waits until Eva's locked Filo's door after her until he tries to say something.

"I get it," She says before he can, just pulls him closer to her so she can sit on the counter and see his eye properly, "Does this hurt?"

"No."

Everything about her is so warm as she cleans him up; she thumbs at his lip as she wipes rubbing alcohol to the small slit at his eyebrow, hums a tune he's not familiar with as she works, swings her legs either side of her hips with no real rhythm. When his hands fall to her hips her toes flirt with the back of his knee and she smiles so gently at him it kind of hurts.

"You were defending your friends," She whispers into the dark when they're getting ready for bed. There's a memory of their fight fresh in his eyes, yelling at her that he was defending Martino and that she _wasn't listening_ , the heartbroken look on her face when he couldn't see her view. She normally shies away from him when she's half-dressed like she is now, but when he gets on his knees on the bed in front of her and reaches for her she all but falls into him. 

He kisses down her neck as she tugs his belt off, lets her nip at his ear lobe as he starts unbuttoning that damn button-down she's so obsessed with. She giggles against the back of her hand when her tights get caught at her knees, pulls him up gently by his hair when he leaves a series of open-mouthed kisses to her hip, winds her leg around his waist as she kisses him breathless. 

"You're not mad at me?" He presses to her collar, the room around them dark and warm. He wants to pay attention to all of her - wants to know if she's matched the nail polish on her toes to the polish on her hands like she always does, if there's a freckle on the inside of her thigh like Eva keeps telling him, wants to see all the skin that she rarely puts on show - but she's never let themselves get this intimate before, a painful memory of another boy in another time, and he wants her to know she can _trust him_. 

"No, I'm not mad at you."

The next morning, she's crawling back into bed just as he wakes up. She sits on his chest and he paints her nails because Filo's not here to do it, and then he's sent out in the cold without a shirt to water her plants, and then to make tea and downstairs to take out the trash, and then he helps her with the laundry and the dishes. So, sure, she's not mad at him, but she sure is going to be milking this whole 'not-liking-him-fighting' thing for a while. 

* * *

_Good night and joy be with you all_

She's killing him with coy smiles over the shoulders of her friends, with those little glances his way as her friends drag her into a group hug for a photo, with the bite of her lip as she directs them towards his bedroom door. 

She's killing him with the way that white shirt falls of her shoulders effortlessly, and the black lace that's found underneath. Her skin's dark against her shirt but light against the grey of his bedsheets. The light catches her eyes just right, making them shine; catches her lipstick even better; creates a hazy effect around her hair when she flicks it over her shoulder. 

She's killing him with the way she touches him. Her hands have never been softer on his skin as they slide up his arms and around his shoulders, mouth chaste but insistent against his. Her thighs press against his as she works at the buttons of his own shirt, his balance being knocked off with each flutter of her pinky against the exposed skin. She's warm where he pushes her hair off her cheeks, where he squeezes her hips, where she gets his shirt off and starts working on his belt. 

She's killing him with the whisper of his name against the shell of his ear, the appreciative little hums when his lips fall to her neck. 

She's killing him with the way she doesn't move away from him. With the way she presses closer and gives as good as she takes. With the way, she looks him in the eyes and never lets go of his hand. With the way she tugs on his hair and can't go a minute without pressing a kiss to his neck, his jaw, his collar, his cheek, his mouth, anywhere she can reach. With the way she curls herself against his chest afterwards, drawing patterns against his stomach that he'll feel for days to come. 

With the way, her pinky finger slides into his as they join their friends outside again. With the way, she kisses him as they dance, a promise of more to come tonight and tomorrow and years from now.

* * *

Eleonora Sava is slowly killing him and he's enjoying every stretched second of it. 


End file.
